Giahem's Talons

by Katharine Wibell

  “When did you get back?” Abruptly, Lluava remembered her manners. “I’m sorry. Take a seat…where you can.”

  Holly cracked a weary smile and sat on the floor across from Lluava. From this position, Lluava realized, the redheaded woman appeared close to her mother’s age; strangely, though, she seemed more like an older sister.

  “I arrived several hours ago. The journey was not an easy one.”

  Both women paused, trying to figure out what to say next. Holly began, “I have come bearing news you will want to hear.” Lluava absentmindedly scooted closer to Holly as the older woman spoke. “After I laid June to rest, I found a number of humans, including the young lieutenant who is a friend of yours, and—”

  “Vidrick! He’s still alive?”

  “Yes, as is the Theriomorph colonel, Ojewa.”

  “Thank the gods,” Lluava whispered without realizing the implication of the words.

  Holly’s smile flickered again, then disappeared. “I showed them the way out of Cronus.”

  “How many made it?”

  “In that group, thirty or so.”

  “Thirty,” Lluava repeated, dismayed.

  “The lieutenant led them south, away from the war. Ojewa stayed behind to try to save more humans before the rest were slaughtered. He is a good Theriomorph. Much like yourself.”

  “Yes,” agreed Lluava as she fondly remembered the officer who had trained her. “He is very brave.”

  Did Holly know what horrors Lluava had accidentally caused? Lluava asked in a voice on the verge of breaking, “Do you know if my friends Talos or Rosalyn were among the thirty? And Apex?”

  “Colonel Ojewa was the only Theriomorph among the group. I know not what happened to any of your race inside Cronus.” Holly must have seen the look of pain on Lluava’s face, for she added, “There is a chance that the colonel will find them and lead them out.”

  “What chance is there, really?” Lluava asked bitterly.

  “A slim one at best.”

  Had she lost Apex for good? Was Talos’s plan to protect Rosalyn and their unborn child working? Lluava’s whole body was wracked with a physical pain. She clutched her stomach tightly.

  “Have hope,” Holly said tenderly as she stood to leave. “Without hope, there is no chance for the future.”

  “June…” Lluava said. Holly paused. “You knew her name. With hundreds of people working in the castle, you remembered hers. How?”

  “I am an Obsidian Guard. We know everyone who resides within the castle’s walls.”

  “True,” Lluava acknowledged. “Yet there is more to it than that. You called her June, not Juniper, her real name. And I remember how you picked up her body. You knew her personally. Why else would you tend to one dead girl when so many other corpses littered the ground? June meant something to you. What?”

  “June—Juniper—was my youngest sister. My biological sister. Our mother had a preference for botanical names.” Holly had never shared personal details with or revealed her feelings to Lluava, but now her eyes misted over.

  “I thought Shadows did not associate with their birth families.”

  “We are not permitted to make contact with them, that is true. Nonetheless, June was my sister.”

  “I’m sorry,” Lluava blurted, far louder than necessary. Thinking of her own little sister, she felt wretched and unable to comprehend the loss Holly felt. “I’m sorry I could not protect her. I failed….” Lluava could not finish her sentence as her own tears began to well up. She turned away and stared at the floor.

  “No,” Holly affirmed, touching Lluava’s shoulder gently. “The fault is mine alone. I asked the castle’s head housekeeper to recruit June. I thought I was helping her. I wanted her to have a better life.” Holly stepped away. “My mother was so very poor. She did whatever she could to make a coin. That was one reason why most of my siblings have different fathers. But things changed after I was chosen for the Guard.”

  Sighing, Holly replaced her hood. “After receiving the largest sum of money my mother had ever seen, she thought that since she had birthed one Guard, she could produce another. By the time my training ended and I was selected to serve in Cronus, my siblings had multiplied from five to eleven, including two sets of twins. With so many mouths to feed, my family had become more destitute, if that was possible.”

  “Although I could not rescue all of my siblings, I selected one to bring to the castle. June was young enough not to have been corrupted by my mother’s way of life, yet she was old enough to prove useful. I foolishly believed that if I could save just one, I would have done my family some actual service.” Holly’s voice trailed off as she became thoughtful.

  Lluava inquired apprehensively, “Your family. Did they live in Cronus?”

  “Yes.”

  With that, Holly silently slipped out the door and into the darkness.

  ***

  The next morning, or at least when Jigo proclaimed that morning had arrived, Lluava arose with a feeling of great discomfort. She was an outsider who had been brought to a place where she did not belong. Erebos was for humans only. Not a single Theriomorph before Lluava had trodden across its hollowed-out center. She would never have been permitted inside. Although her innocence had been proclaimed, she was stripped of her official positions, and she had no idea what to do.

  Everywhere she looked, members of the Guard moved with determination. Most took no notice of her, while a few gave her questioning looks. Did they deem her an intruder? Certainly they knew who or what she was. Lluava needed something to take her mind off these thoughts, something to keep her away from roaming stares that only reminded her of the horror she had caused.

  In one part of the mound’s vast base, a number of teens were training with three-pronged sai, others with bō staffs. As Jigo was leading her through the gloom toward their meal hall, Lluava asked, “Will Issaura’s Claws be returned to me, now that I am no longer deemed a threat?”

  “They will. They are yours,” acknowledged Jigo. “It is the when that is in question.”

  Lluava expected as much. “Then what am I to do here? I cannot train or aid in decision-making. I need a purpose. I don’t want to sit in my room for days on end.”

  “You have traveled far and been through much,” said Jigo. He showed her to a low table, where he and Lluava took a seat on more woven mats. “Take this time to recuperate.”

  Lluava could not help but worry about her friends in Elysia who were fighting for survival. Two boys about fourteen years old brought them plain porridge and goblets of water. They bowed first to Jigo and then to Lluava before turning to leave.

  “Who are they?” Lluava asked as she blew on her first spoonful. The other conversation was clearly at an end.

  “Some of our youngest acolytes,” explained Jigo. He lowered his head and said a silent prayer to his god. Lluava waited awkwardly until her host was finished. For the first time, Jigo pulled off his mask, revealing a man in his early forties. His skin had an olive hue like Lluava’s, though his long hair was dark, braided and coiled into a bun at the back of his head.

  Taking a bite of porridge, Jigo continued, “During their training years, the acolytes assist in the various jobs that help Erebos function. This city is entirely self-sustaining. During each stage of training, the acolytes are assigned a new role. By the time they take part in the initiation exams, they are adept at all practical tasks—cooking, washing, growing crops, running messages. Although they begin training in the arts of war while young, that skill takes longer to attain.”

  Swallowing her mouthful, Lluava inquired, “Why do they need to learn all the ordinary tasks? Why not let them focus on training to fight, if they are going to serve and protect the king in the end?”

  Jigo paused before responding. “Not every acolyte becomes an active Obsidian Guard. Only the best are chosen. The others are allotted jobs in which they will serve until they die, just as those who age out of active duty will return here and serve
out the rest of their lives. We train the acolytes in all tasks to determine what they are best suited to do.”

  Now Lluava understood a bit better the plethora of people living in this dark abyss. None of the children brought to Erebos could leave. The Obsidian Guard would not risk others finding their hidden stronghold, nor allow anyone to reveal their secrets. To be chosen by the Guard entailed a lifelong obligation that could never be revoked.

  Toward the end of their meal, a disturbance of black feathers manifested in the candlelit gloom, only to half crash, half perch on Lluava’s shoulder.

  “Onyx?” Lluava questioned excitedly. “How did you get in here?”

  “I told you she was fine,” Byron’s voice permeated the dark. He entered the room along with Varren and Thad. “They wouldn’t find fault with her.”

  Smiling, the broad-shouldered soldier sat down on one side of Lluava. “Everything is sorting itself out. Things can begin to get back to normal now.”

  “Not exactly.” Byron’s optimism only increased Lluava’s uncertainty.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, still jovial, as Varren and Thad found seats at the table. He ran his hand over his recently shaved head as if feeling the tips of his hacked-off blond hair.

  “I’m no longer Varren’s partner,” Lluava stated. “Didn’t you hear?”

  “What?” Now, Byron was caught off guard.

  “She is correct,” admitted Varren.

  Lluava could tell he was not about to appeal the verdict. Perhaps that was for the best. She knew she deserved to lose that privilege.

  “But why?” Byron turned to Jigo, the only Guard at the table. “She did nothing wrong.”

  Before Jigo could answer, Lluava intervened, “It’s for the best, Byron. Truly.”

  If Byron wanted to contest that judgment, he kept quiet. He seemed to understand that it was not his decision. Thad had not even acknowledged the conversation, and with both Varren and Lluava refusing to argue the point, why bother?

  Varren, seated across from Byron, looked at Lluava with eyes full of turmoil. This must be hard for him, she thought. Varren was aware of the destruction that had resulted from her actions. What could he say to her now that the verdict had been rendered?

  Onyx tugged at Lluava’s silvery hair. “Stupid bird,” she muttered under her breath, clearly unable to actually hate the creature. Thad’s eyes flickered slightly.

  “I had him captured for you,” Varren acknowledged. “He must have been flying about the entryway for some time. When I heard a raven was out there, I had him netted and brought inside.”

  “That bird would not shut up,” added Thad in an almost inaudible voice as the acolytes returned with steaming bowls of porridge for her friends. As if on cue, Onyx began to murmur in Lluava’s ear. She scratched the bird’s neck, and Onyx sidled away from her touch. Rude, she thought.

  Studying the young king, Lluava wondered why he hadn’t come to see her last night. If he had knowledge of the verdict, why hadn’t he checked to see how she was doing? Didn’t he care about her anymore? Did he hate her that much? If they had not met by chance, would he have sought her out? Would he ever love her again?

  Unable to stomach her own answers to these questions, Lluava stood. “I’ll be in my room.”

  “Are you all right?” Varren inquired suddenly.

  No, you fool! she wanted to scream. Looking at his cool blue eyes, Lluava could not take it anymore. Why did he try so hard to be nice? Couldn’t he just say what he was thinking?

  She mustered a curt nod and waited for Jigo to accompany her; she wasn’t sure she could find her way back. Jigo replaced his masked hood and nodded respectfully to the king before heading toward the door.

  “Wait!”

  Jigo immediately obeyed Varren’s command, although Lluava took several more steps before consenting to stop.

  “Can we have—?” Varren began to ask Jigo, but the Guard had already disappeared into the shadows. Varren peered after him as though trying to make sure they would not be overheard.

  “Do you have something you wish to say?” Lluava asked hesitantly. Onyx shuffled on her shoulder.

  “Yes.” Varren moved toward her. “I know you must be upset, and I need to let you know why I have not countered those proclamations.”

  Not sure she wanted to hear the reason, Lluava remained silent.

  “Many things have changed since the battle of Castle Alcazar, and I believe it is best that we take time to sort out everything.”

  So, he did know. Everything. Lluava noticed how Varren’s fingers toyed with his signet ring. “Too much happened, too quickly. We need time. I need time.

  “For now, I must devise a counterattack aimed at both enemies. Elysia belongs to the people, to me. I cannot let anyone destroy her, so I will continue to fight. I will not give up on her. I could never give up on her, even if all seems lost.

  “Lluava, you are still important to me, though it may not seem that way right now. I just…I just want you to know that the proclamations do not have to last forever.”

  She interjected sourly, “Just until we sort through things. Got it.”

  Spinning on her heel, Lluava fumbled her way back to her rooms, only getting lost four times.

  Chapter 5

  Kitchen Banter

  Over the next few days, Lluava saw little of her friends, or anyone else for that matter. She chose to spend the majority of her time in her room, watching Onyx’s lackluster antics in the faint hope of escaping her boredom.

  If Varren needed time to sort things out before seeing her, she would not interfere. That was the best thing to do, right? Anyway, there was Thad. He had survived one hell only to be thrust into another. Thad needed Varren’s care and support as much as Varren needed to protect and look after his childhood friend. At night, Lluava would often hear the sound of screams echoing down the corridor. It could only be Thad. Whatever nightmares ravaged his dreams were far more horrific than hers.

  On the other hand, Byron had no reason to be distant. Yet he, too, seemed to prefer the king’s presence to hers—the one who had let the enemy through the gates. This meant she was alone.

  Being alone came easy to Lluava. She had grown up without friends her own age. Studying, caring for her younger siblings, and working on the farm had filled most of her time. She had disliked Rivendale’s narrow-minded human children and had never yearned for their friendship.

  Lluava had never thought she would need to rely on another. That is, until she met Varren. Nesting alongside her own self-loathing was her despair that he might never trust her again. Her longing to share every detail grew stronger. Certainly, he knew what she had said during her trial. Yet she wanted to tell him what had happened to her in Tartarus when she finally allowed Theri to control her. She wanted him to understand that he had been manipulated by Selene for her own selfish purposes. But Varren needed time, and Lluava would give that to him. She owed him that.

  Jigo checked on her often, even after she no longer needed him to lead her to the meal hall and washrooms. He was kind in a stoic way but never warm, never an actual friend. That designation was left to her scrappy raven, even though he snapped at her fingers when he pecked at bread crusts.

  At the end of the first week, Lluava noticed the acolytes who worked in the meal hall struggling to clear tables before a new group of elders arrived to eat. Here was a way she might help. Stacking several ceramic dishes in her arms, she followed the last boy through a dark doorway at the back of the room.

  The muggy kitchens lay behind it. Several older men were overseeing the food being prepared by a handful of youth. They glanced at Lluava questioningly, yet none said a word. Following the boys, she saw them drop their wares into several washtubs set up in a line near a side wall.

  One small, dark-haired boy scrubbed furiously at a plate, arms deep in dingy suds. Taking a spot next to him, Lluava reached for a rag hanging from a peg and began to do the same. The boy, about seven years old and by
far the youngest person she had seen in Erebos, looked over at Lluava. He raised an eyebrow and seemed to appraise her work. Drying off his plate, he pulled Lluava’s from her hands.

  At first, she thought this was a sign that she was unwanted. Then she realized that he was showing her how to properly wash the dishes—at least according to his standards.

  “Thanks,” Lluava said. The boy gave her a curt nod as he picked up a goblet. Sometime later, when her fingers were thoroughly pruney, she said to her quiet companion, “My name’s Lluava Kargen.”

  “They call me Odel,” the boy said as he studied her with his crystal-blue eyes. “You were not given permission to be back here.” He nodded toward one of the elders, who was tasting the contents of a large cauldron. “Kido has been watching you closely.”

  A little concerned that she’d been unaware of others observing her, Lluava knew she had to expect it. They were called Shadows for a reason. “Will he kick me out?”

  “Only time will tell,” answered Odel.

  Several hours later, the dirty dishware had slowed to a trickle and then stopped; all had been cleaned and stacked on the appropriate shelves.

  “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow…” Lluava hesitantly remarked.

  His smile was that of someone years older. He bowed to her, then to Kido, who stood near the door. Turning to the elder, Lluava tentatively inquired, “Tomorrow, then?”

  Kido gave her no answer as she left the kitchen.

  The following day, Lluava arrived early at her self-appointed job. Kido made no move to stop her as she assumed her position next to Odel. At first, she was kept distracted by learning the surprisingly detailed ritual of cleaning kitchen wares and memorizing where each item was kept. Yet the methodical scrubbing soon became automatic, and she could not stop herself from thinking about Varren and Apex.

  Varren had always struggled with making choices. Lluava had come to realize that he avoided major decisions because he was so concerned about and afraid of the potential outcomes. What if they hurt others? What if people died?

  Lluava and Talos had had to push the prince to take up his role as ruler of Elysia. So, it was ironic that Varren’s fear of making a bad choice manifested in Lluava. It was her decisions that had caused harm, that had killed many. If only she had stopped to think about the consequences. Why—